Adventures with ramen and Spanx

About a year and a half ago I found myself in a TJ Maxx at lunch time with a gift card to burn. I didn’t want to spend more than the $35 but I also didn’t want to have to come back to complete the $35 transaction.

My mother always says that you can never be too fat for purses and shoes.

I ended up in the handbag section of TJ Maxx.  If you have ever been there you know what I am talking about.  You can end up with a hand tooled, sacred cow leather bag that can hold your stuff, your kids stuff and make your breakfast or you can get a pleather pocketbook with sequins. I didn’t get the bentley of bags on this shopping trip. I ended up with a tommy hilfinger (knock off perhaps) for $25.00.

I had $10.00 left.  What to buy, what to buy…

I ended up in the sock department.  Who doesn’t need or love socks?

Then i see it, for $7.00, a box of Spanx.

For those of you who do not know what Spanx are, they are like girdles for your butt and thighs. Supposedly they move space, time, fat, muscle and bone to make you appear thinner in your jeans. And! Oprah likes them.  So who wouldn’t want to try some Spanx?

For those of you who read my last post about Mega Bra you might think I have a suction issue.  I assure you, I do not.

I check out with my new belongings and head back to the car.  I pop my bag in the trunk of my car and return to work.

Fast forward 18 months.

The other day I was cleaning out my truck and noticed my TJ Maxx bag.  I decided to bring it in and do something with my $35 worth of stuff.

I put the purse on my tree o’ purses in my closet and then I notice my Spanx.

I had just put ramen in the microwave for @jaredwsmith (we just like eating ramen noodles at midnight like we are college kids.  You smoke weed as an adult and we eat ramen as adults.  back off. ) and I head into the bedroom to make the bed and throw away the purses bag when I notice my little box of Spanx.

Figuring I had a few minutes, why not try them on?

I go to open the box and realize that these were on clearance. Now why would somebody put Spanx on clearance if they are so great? Oh yeah, because they have been opened before.

Normally it wouldn’t bother me however, it is my observation that Spanx are to be worn sans undies. Not for this girl, but for some.

I flip over the box to see what size they are.  Oh yeah, they are a size smaller than I should we wearing.

Some would turn back but not I.  I pulled out the pre-worn, too small, cootie covered flesh colored Spanx and sit down on the edge of the bed to put them on.

After figuring out how not to be tangled in them i finally got both feet in.  I then proceeded to learn three lessons:

First lesson: Spanx are not pants. Do not assume that because things have two tubes for legs that they behave like pants. you may put your feet in them and go to pull them up and you will feel pretty stupid with they snap back into position on your ankles.

Second lesson: they fight back. If you get them up your thighs that you are trying to conceal do not rest yet.  Those assholes will roll back down your thighs with such vigor that you will swear that you will have bruises the next day.

Third lesson: they are like Chinese finger traps for your legs.  If you happen to get the Spanx off your hefty thighs you have not completed the journey.  Due to their excessive length and elasticity you will end up on your back on the floor trying to untangle your feet.

At one point, I thought it would be funny to serve @jaredwsmith his nightly ramen feeding in my new Spanx but instead, I just wrote a blog.

Motherfucking Spanx

Your Mega Bra and You

So @jaredwsmith and I are getting married in…a number of days.  33 maybe? 32? something like that.  10/29/11. So today is the day I had to go in and get my dress altered.

Today marks the third (of four) times that I will be prompted to flash employees of David’s Bridal.

The first was when I was picking out my dress.  She must be familiar with girls’ girls because she helped me out of my dress.  She could smell my fear.  Because I love being in 4×4 rooms with strange women with tattoos on their boobs and and scary long fingernails topless. This was my first encounter with Mega Bra.

A few months later, I return to said Davids Bridal to purchase my very own Mega Bra to wear on mah day. I walked in and spoke to a woman who, very loudly, asked my bra size.  Listen, just because I have them and wear them everyday, im a little bashful about broadcasting my bra size to a crowded bridal salon. I was peaking into my purse to find a receipt or gum wrapper I could write my size down on to give to her but before I could even get through my bag she was measuring me. in the middle of where small-chested-girls try on their dresses. Once again, I was told to strip.  So again, here i am, in a Davids Bridal bare chested like Mel Gibson in Braveheart, in all my glory being groped by a woman whose job is feeling boobs everyday.

To make matters worse, it was August in Savannah, GA.  I was hot, red and sweaty. When I emerged from the 4×4 room I had sex hair and my shirt was rumpled like I had, in fact, engaged in making sex.

I collected my Mega Bra and paid for it. Walking out, I thought I had my cure for every dealing with this again.  All I would have to do for the fitting is put the Mega Bra on myself and then somebody would help me into my dress.  Problem solved.

Two days later, I am in my mothers bedroom at her house.  The moment of truth had come and it was time to put the whole getup on. I went into the bathroom to put on my Mega Bra.  Wouldn’t you know, my arms dont bend that way.

This would be the time to explain the Mega Bra.  A MB is a girdle. ok. fuck you.  its a fucking girdle. it is a spandex tube with boning in it to make my boobs look contained in a strapless manner.  I will have you know it does nothing. It covers what it needs to cover but thats about it. It safely adheres my liver to my spine though so I guess thats something.

I wiggle out of the bathroom in my underwear and the MB on the front of me.  I weep a little and ask my mom to fasten me.  There are 26 eyelets on this motherfucker. 15 minutes and two pairs of reading glasses, we got it on.  Granted, we were one off the whole way down, so I was a little lopsided but this was only a test.

Got the dress on, everything was fine. I had to hold the top of MB up so it didnt get stuck on the dress when I put it on (I have to go in UNDER the dress – i cant step into it).

So today came, I knew I would need some help getting all of my gear on to try out the dress and get it altered.

I arrive alarmingly early for my appointment.  I was put in a room that didn’t have a door but a small curtain that hardly closed and anytime anyone walked by it would flap in the wind.  Wonderful.

Shen comes in and tells me to take off my shirt. I didn’t even know her name at the time. She didnt buy me dinner or take me to a movie.  So I take off my t-shirt.  She then instructs me to take off my (PE) bra.  I turn around and try to keep my shit together and not flash anyone.  She hands me my MB and i put it on my front but not before I realize that while she is to my back, I am surrounded by 3 full-length mirrors. there are 3 sets of boobs staring at me. I am hoping nobody else saw my almost-transparent skin.  I am a tankini girl as most of you SHOULD be.  you know who you are.

Once I get the MB on, I am told I should have a slip.  So why not? lets just see how much more money I can spend at David’s Bridal. She returns with a partner this time and with said slip and before I even know whats next, she un-did my entire MB and it went flying off my body from sheer elasticity. Once again, I have flashed my Davids Bridal associate and her coworker. She gets me back into my MB and my new ($70) slip (that I will never.  ever. wear. again.).

Then, I have Shen, Davids Bridal Associate A and then Davids Bridal Associate B walks by at a brisk pace and my curtain goes flying. Nobody seems to care as they are putting me into my dress.  I think I am home free.  With one solid jerk of the dress to get it over my enormous slip, out pop my boobs.  I clearly wasn’t paying attention.

I put things back where they belong.  I dont make eye contact with anybody in or around Davids Bridal for the remainder of my visit.

The fitting goes swimmingly. We use words like train, bussle and “SQUEEEEE”.

Once the pinning is done, we head back into the 2nd circle of hell where Shen unzips and unhooks faster than a Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. But not without exposing yet another part of my body that is never to see daylight.  Thats right, my undies were taken down with the zipper of my slip.

She was gone before I could get a little snuggle.


That time I almost developed a porn site

Full disclosure: I am from the midwest. I dont like movies with too much sex.  I dont like movies with violence. The raciest thing I watch is project runway.

We are looking for web development work.  As I have mentioned, Craigslist has been very good to us. So once again, I go whoring through the classifieds looking for somebody, anybody who needs a website.

I found one, and she emailed me back. She mentioned “adult content” in the ad.  I think the AARP falls into “adult content”.  It is content for adults.

So she emails me all in caps, she seems to be quite shouty. She tells me what she needs and it sounds pretty reasonable.  Then she sends me a link to her site which i will not publish here because I dont have an age restriction on my blog.

I click the link and am met with all kinds of hardcore things I cannot unsee. Yes, it is a website for “BBW’s” (thank GOD for Urban Dictionary) and tranny’s. Not like BBW’s AND transvestites but like for people who are both. I really didn’t realize there was a market for this particular type of pornography.  I didnt realize a camera could take pictures of those things at that angle. I am not upset, just confused.

Anyway, once the body parts are removed from my machine she actually seems quite cool and we might end up working together on non-porny things.

As for our new business, back to the drawing board.

shit @jaredwsmith says: “wwjd? smh”

we have been working ourselves silly in the last month so we decided to go on a “date”. I for one, have never understood grown ass people who live together and either are married or about to be married needing to go on a date to an Outback on a friday night.  I call that more of a borderline punishment than a “date”.

We pile into the car and ship off to outback because at the end of the day, we were hungry for fat, salt and carbohydrates and since we are starting a business, we have little to no money after our bills and drug habits are taken care of.

Everything is semi normal, we get a beer and a glass of wine because god knows, just like Outback’s european cousin Olive Garden, there is always a wait. My purse decided to take up three chairs at a crowded bar and Jared decided to rock back and forth on his feet like a 5 year old that has to pee.

We are seated by a young lady who had a literacy deficiency (Coccaro: co-care-o guys, not so hard), to her defence, she was only an infant. We are seated at a table with one side being a bench.  naturally, having a much larger ass than @jaredwsmith I took the bench.

@jaredwsmith seems to forget we are getting married in 42 days and momma’s the size of a house, he orders cheese fries. thanks, ass.

We get half way through our steaks and I feel its time to start preparation for our impending after dinner meal, dessert.  This is when I announce to our waitress, Sandy (who has longer than healthy blonde pigtails) that it is @jaredwsmith’s birthday (in may) and we are celebrating tonight (in september).

Trying to ease the frustration and embarrassment that he has at this point I decide to engage him in the penis game. Like the book The Help, it starts with a whisper. eventually it turns into @scoccaro half shouting the word “penis” in a very crowded Outback Steakhouse on a Friday night.

His dessert arrives, the waitress refuses to sing, so I do.  Loudly. for everyone to hear. i am celebrating my life partners birthday after all.

He turns shades of red then purple that i have never seen.

We promptly pay the tab because he is afraid we will get discovered and we vacate.

Once outside @jaredwsmith launches a full-on Penis Game attempt. I have never heard him say the word penis so loudly.

I get over to the car, hop in and lock him out. he stands there knocking on the window and yelling at me as if i have forgotten him on the exterior of the vehicle.  Once he sees that I have in fact noticed him but have chosen not to welcome him into the car he starts with the shouting and hand gestures that make his mother proud. We went through the unlocking and locking process when he is finally allowed back in the car.

We rush home listening to bad rap and I make him car dance with me all the way home.

so he says: “thank god there are no PENISES in the road. and by penis i mean speed bumps and by road i mean this parking lot.”

This is who I am marrying.

My $78 meeting

It all started at 9:30 this morning.

I had a meeting in DC.  Still being somewhat new to the area, I am not familiar with all of the neighborhoods in DC yet so I am not sure the most effective route to go when I have to go in most of the time. Typically @jaredwsmith goes with me but since we had the new cleaning lady coming today he stayed home.

Sidebar: this is our 3rd cleaning lady.  the first on never did the inside of the microwave and she insisted on doing my laundry.  The result was a shit ton of stuff ruined because it didnt belong in the washing machine. The second one didn’t show up…twice then presented a lame excuse as to why and expected to still have a job.  So now we have Stacey. End sidebar.

So off i go to the vienna metro station which is at the scariest road i have ever been on.  I arrive promptly at 10:00 am. Then the trouble starts.  its a little known fact that if you arrive to Vienna after 8am, you will not be parking anywhere legal.  I forgot this fact this morning.  I was hoping that it was a myth.  It is not. Whats worse is the only way to get out of the parking garage is $4.50 on your metro card.  I have $3.50 on mine. So i circled the parking lot for 15 minutes looking for a spot and I couldnt leave because I wouldnt be able to get out.  I was literally trapped in a concrete fortress.

So what does any desperate-to-be-on-time person do? Invents a parking spot! I found a cozy little place on the sidewalk that would accommodate my volkwagen beetle nicely and pulled right in.  Concerned and looking for approval, I call my mother who tells me I am going to get towed.  She never supports my semi-illegal things. Late and stressed, I leave my car and head into the metro station.  I fill up my card with $20 and get on the train.

I have the metro system down pretty well.  I dont like the long escalators but the rest of it is ok.

This is when the trouble starts.

Let me take a moment to discuss Google Maps. Nothing says “lost” like a kid walking in circles looking at their iPhone. This was me.  I was begging to be mugged or converted to a religion i had never heard of.

I find a bus stop. Albeit, not MY bus stop but a bus stop where I promptly get on a bus and tell the bus driver I am looking for D6.  She kicks me off the bus and tells me to cross the street. I realized later that she meant while there was no traffic. I hop across the street but ask for directions from strangers on two occasions. Once was a nice lady who told me to walk down the block and another a guy in a hard hat smoking a cigarette who actually didnt say anything just shook his head and went back to his phone.  If that is how all construction workers communicate that would explain why things never get done.

I find bus stop number two. On the sign it says “D6”. and I wait. and wait. and wait.  I met a friend in the interim.  Martha.  A nice african american woman in her late 50’s she was also waiting on D6.  But like all good things in life, there is an expiration date. That expiration date was as soon as we got on the bus.  she didnt want to sit next to me. Google transit said the ride is only supposed to be 24 minutes.  apparently they werent ever on this particular bus because every single asshole on this bus wanted to get off not at a stop. I found them to be selfish and lazy.

I had a red sticky note on my puppy notebook telling me what stop to get off at.  so as soon as we got on Macarthur street, i jumped for joy.  Remember how I said the other bus patrons were lazy?  I felt I needed to set and example and get off at the stop 1.4 miles early.

Thanks google maps for brightening my day yet again.

Hot, late, hungry and hoofing it up a hill with a 30 pound purse on my shoulder I call the person I am supposed to be meeting with.  His secretary tells me no problem and she would let him know.

I get to the top of the hill and the road is no more.  I have to go left or right.  I go left.  New rule: if you look at google maps and it looks like you go right, go left.

I pick a direction and go about a block, realize its incorrect and head back. Keep in mind I have already gone a mile.  Luckily, not in heels.

Next thing I know, i am surrounded by houses and the german embassy.  At this point I give up.  I call @jaredwsmith to tell him im canceling my meeting and he says he will come get me.

At this point I call the office back. She tells me she will tell him but isnt that weird..I am not on his schedule for the day.

So I am tired, hot, sweaty, tired, hungry and almost out of money on my metro card and im not even on this guys schedule for the day.

I call @jaredwsmith back. He says he will take a cab to vienna to get my car so I dont get towed. The bright side: my car was still there, the down side: I had a $50 ticket on it.

So at this point we have spent the following to travel 21 miles for a meeting that never was:

  • $50 ticket
  • $22 cab fare
  • $5 metro fare

I am 189 in dog years

When I was 17, my Government teacher, Mr. Cwodzinski asked us to create a project that defines our political beliefs. The first line of my project read like this: “I am a 16 year old female with the political beliefs of a 50 year old male”.

This is not a post about politics.

This is a post about why im old as shit.

As I write this, the hoodlums below are listening to something that actually makes me blush when I try to Shazam it.

I am to the point in my life when I roll up (in my red volkswagen beetle with a white flower) like a badass listening to hall ‘n oates, to a stop light and a 1999 Toyota Corolla with 4 teenage boys pull up next to me with loud music. I mouth “I know your mother” while pointing to my iPhone. I choose not to shout it because they may hear me and I only point to my phone because its the only weapon I have with me.  If they decide to get even rowdier I will just throw it at them.

Case in point, about a year ago there were some children living below us.  Usually pretty nice, once one of them held the door for me. They typically waved with all fingers. One night at 3am, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.  Until those little fuckers came home from the bar with all the skanks in Hilton Head in tow. It would have been fine had the fat drunk one wasnt calling to her anorexic friend from the balcony.

I called the cops and then watched in my pink bathrobe from the window.

Listen, I am not a fun-hater, i am just a peace and quiet lover.

That one time in Roanoke

After a long weekend in Hilton Head, we are driving back to Reston VA.  We got a late start leaving this morning and made a detour in Charlotte (@lemursmanlemurs).  We finally got on i-77 North to head home around 8pm.

Things are going swimmingly until the 3 cokes I had with dinner hit my bladder around 11:15.  Jared, being the gentleman he is, finds the nearest rest location for me to eliminate my bladder contents.

After a death defying dash across 6 lanes of traffic in the pissing rain he locates a Pilot station.

He pulls into a parking spot and grabs ahold of maggie so she doesnt follow me into this dark, moderately populated rest stop.

I hop out into the icy, wet outdoors and proclaim “holy shit im fucking cold!’.  Much to my dismay, @jaredwsmith was already on to looking at his phone and over me getting out of the car.  Luckily the blonde with dark roots smoking a cigarette in the next car noticed.

My best defense mechanism that I have is to smile big and raise my voice an octave when I feel threatened. so with a big ass smile sounding like Ke$ha, I walk into this pilot station.  Lets do this.

I saunter up to the counter and ask Vi if I may use the restroom.  (tip: as somebody whose father made her go on annual treks from Minnesota all up and down the eastern seaboard, always ask, never assume, that the restroom is free or even located in the building.) She nod’s yes, I smile and shout “thank you” almost too enthusiastically, startled she points to the back corner, nods and mumbles “back there”.

It’s one of those restrooms.  The one where you can’t pick the cleanest one, just the one that is less filthy than the rest.  After creating my ass-to-seat barrier i do what i came here for. Just then, I hear the door open and close.  I am already on high-alert with Vi, the blonde and the fact that there are 10 semi’s parked out back. Just because this gas station has a subway in it doesn’t mean its safe for a lone female to wander at almost midnight alone. I decided to hide out in the stall for a few minutes.  What’s a little inhalation of industrial cleaner and fecal material?  When I am sure the coast is clear, I flush the toilet with my big toe and do the cootie dance all the way out of the stall.

Before I left @jaredwsmith and I made a pact to drink a shit-ton of red bull and finish the drive jacked up on sugar and caffeine.  I buy him a liter of red bull and a hershey’s bar, i got a normal-sized-person red bull and chewy sweetarts.  I also found a random magnet from South Dakota (where I went to college) that I had to purchase because if I made it out of here unscathed I needed something on my fridge to commemorate it. I ventured up to Vi.

Once again, i have my “i dont belong here” smile on when I approach the counter and put my soon-to-be-mine belongings in front of her.  When in doubt, talk about dogs and weather.  I mentioned how balls cold it was outside, she nodded, I told her how happy my dogs must be because they wear sweaters all year, she nodded, I mentioned how stupid it was to keep a bin on knifes under the counter at a shady gas station. She paused, gave me my total and the stink eye.

I handed her the $20 my mom stuck in my pocket before we left and giggled nervously. All I could smell was burning hot dogs, while she counted out my changes all I thought about was that smell seeping into my hair and how I might have to burn it off when I get home…

I got my $8.00 back and scampered out the door back to @jaredwsmith who was still playing on his phone next to the blonde who was still smoking.

Where I always feel like family

Olive garden. We have all been to one. We were mildly happy and then we went home and forgot about it. But what keeps us coming back? The mediocure breadsticks? The subpar wait staff? Kind of feeling like family?

Olive garden is like that high school boyfriend who you loved to hate. He was cute, always busy, emotionally unavailable and never had enough time for you but always wanted to be your friend.

It starts with someone in the car uttering the following statement “fuck Atkins, I want to eat the shit out of some carbs”. Then with a poorly executed 3-point turn at a busy intersection you land in the general vicinity of either olive garden, carrabbas or macaroni grill. All are similar enough to make a generalization of all chain Italian restaurants: they leave you sad and alone.

If you have chosen olive garden you have chosen the path on Oregon trail that gives you dysentery.

If you can find one of their three parking spots unoccupied then it must be after hours. Olive garden parking lots are crawling with pt cruisers and minivans with white stick figure people on them (are African American people offended by this? It seems only white folks are stupid enough to put this shit on their cars). You, father time and the 90 pound mother of three with the jogging stroller in the back are in a face off for an available parking spot. But then! You see a silver Sebring on the other end of the parking lot back up. You have two options: calmly back up, wave with all fingers and slowly move to the soon-to-be open parking spot or throw it in reverse and hope nobody’s packing.

When you are victorious in your parking grab your posse and head in. No doubt you are ravenous. Good thing there is a minimum of a 30 minute wait at 2:30 on a Tuesday afternoon. This is a prime opportunity to review the menu at a high level while high school juniors move around in polyester ties.

Once your buzzer finally alerts you that it’s your turn to feel like family you proceed to the hostess station where she will guide you to the back of the dining area to a vinyl booth where you can stick to the seat.

Sheena will then come by and get your drink order but not before offering you a snoot full of riunite. Yes that shit your parents drank in the navy in the 70’s when stationed in third world countries.

You may now review the menu in detail. How can I have a heart attack today? Let me count the ways! Let’s see how much cheese we can put in a single dish. Maybe ravioli or just a big ass bowl of cheese served with buttered bread.

Place your Order and wait for the soup, salad and breadsticks to come out. They never bring you as many breadsticks as you will need. You better believe sheena will cop a little attitude on her 4th trip to the kitchen for breadsticks. It’s call unlimited for a reason honey.

Food arrives. Once again, more cheese is applied. The food at its best is at least hot.

The check arrives and it’s time to drop $45 on carbs that made you feel bloated and undeserving.

Return to the parking lot full of shame and humility that nothing will fit tomorrow due to the amount of sodium you just consumed. Hating yourself for falling into that same rat trap again.

Go home. Sleep in the fetal position while you quietly mist in your pillow. All families are a little dysfunctional and remember, when you’re here, you’re family.